


Pacific Vice

by kuro49



Series: PPDC 'verse [5]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mark I Glory Days, Romantic Comedy (in disguise), Sex Pollen - Bone Powder Edition, happy one year anniversary pacific rim!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his boss gives him the name Hansen and kicks Stacker down two floors to Narcotics, this is not how he imagines his day to be starting.</p><p>Or Stacker is a homicide detective, Herc is part of the Narcotics Bureau, and everything feels like a soap opera at the end of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pacific Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by historyemily’s [Pacific Vice fanart](http://historyemily.tumblr.com/post/88834646376) (know that there is nothing 80s about my fic, or Miami Vice-esque for that matter.) 
> 
> Disclaimer: People say write what you know, trust that I know my Hong Kong enough. But seriously though, this is an unrepentant Hong Kong soap opera that is cliché at best and makes-no-damn-sense at worst. Feel free to play spot the Mark I pilots, I promise you that they’re all here, no matter how minor. 
> 
> Idk how it has just been a year because I feel like I’ve been PacRimming for so much longer, but happy one year anniversary from yours truly! :DD

It’s brutal every time, and having lived here for so long, Stacker Pentecost doesn’t know why it always seem to surprise him when Hong Kong’s summers come around. The humidity heavy in the air makes it hard to breathe, but the air conditioning that hits him as soon as he walks into the station is never not bliss.

Taking the transfer from Organized Crime to the homicide division promised a lighter workload, fewer nights spent at the station and more at home with Mako. But that hardly seems the case when he finds the autopsy report to the Adam Casey case already on his desk.

Reading through Dr. Lightcap’s report of a possible overdose, Stacker knows his morning is not shaping up to be a good one. Knocking on his boss’s door with the case file in hand, Stacker is simply hoping that he’ll get to call it a day before he has to pick up Mako from tutoring at eight.

When the man gives him the name Hansen and kicks him down two floors to Narcotics, the man standing up from his desk is not quite what he expects.

Stacker doesn’t usually deal with the boys from Narc but Jasper’s off on sick leave, citing a broken heart over the coroner who left him for a lab technician instead. So, it is all left with him when there is a retired USAF Captain found dead in his home.

“Seizure, could be an overdose too. Lighcap says she can’t tell with any kind of certainty which it was. I’ve got Sergio running a diagnosis on it—”

They are sitting in the station’s canteen, stale coffee in Styrofoam cups held in their hands. The man that brushes off Hercules Hansen and tells him _it’s Herc_ taps a finger against the small evidence bag on the table between them, and says.

“I think I know what this is.”

Stacker looks at him, the worn, grey Henley rolled up to his elbows, the stubble rough across his face, his expression looking like he hasn’t slept in days even as he smiles at him.

“It’s probably bone powder.”

“Bone powder.” Stacker repeats, raising an eyebrow when Herc nods.

“You should still have your lab tech run it, it’s been popular in Kowloon for a while, less so on the Island. But things change.”

“Not for the better, I take it.”

Stacker takes a sip, regrets it and tries not to grimace as he puts the cup back down. From the way Herc hides his grin behind his hand, Stacker thinks he doesn’t quite succeed.

“Well, not for us, that’s for sure.”

Stacker doesn’t sigh but he does hand over his case file so Herc can flip through the autopsy report, the crime scene photos, and some of the analysis reports back from forensics. And either he must be masochistic or he’s got some deep-seated habits he must break, he takes another sip of bad coffee from his cup and then another as he waits.

“…What does this bone powder do?”

Herc looks up from the pages with a raised eyebrow, tongue in cheek, biting back a grin like he’s in on a joke only Stacker’s not told.

“Keeps a man going all night.”

 

No matter how long Stacker’s lived in Hong Kong, sitting there in the passenger seat of Herc’s car, the drive up to [Victoria Peak](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victoria_Peak) is always a sight. The midday sun is hot but to see the spread of the city along the edge of Victoria Bay, the light reflecting off of the water, well, that’s always something that’s hard to look away from.

Adam Casey is a retired USAF Captain, found dead in his home, costing three hundred and sixty thousand dollars per square feet and not even the most expensive one on the Peak.

Stacker walks Herc through the crime scene, watches as Hansen puts on his own gloves, the latex stretching around those hands. He points out some of the missing items they have been taken into evidence and lets the man draw his own conclusions.

Stacker Pentecost has never understood why some detectives are territorial. The way he sees it, one more head on the case is one step closer to solving it.

“Stacker.”

Herc is standing by the glass table, motioning to one of the neon yellow evidence tags sitting on the surface. Stacker shuffles through his case file and brings up the corresponding one.

“Whiskey glass, barely a sip left, drink’s clean, and no prints but his own.”

“Not the glass, the coaster.” Herc picks up the bright red square made of hard cardstock, and Stacker notices the way he tilts the paper like he’s looking for something on the smooth surface. “Let me grab something from my car.”

Herc leaves him with the coaster, and it’s barely a minute or two before he hears the man coming back in, following the sound of the trunk being slammed shut. Stacker’s eyes trail after him as he walks back in, a little flashlight held in one hand. And there are a few choice questions Stacker likes to have cleared up but this is good too, not being the one constantly in the lead but finally having someone standing at his side.

“Black light.” Herc says instead of an explanation, pulls the curtains close over the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and gestures for him to hold the card closer.

The flashlight is a black light that has the card lighting up in fluorescence.

“Kaiju.”

The insignia is of a monster’s head, reminds him of decals belonging on someone’s rear bumper.

“Kaiju?”

“Mmhmm,” Herc leans back, and it is only then that Stacker notices how close they are standing. The black light clicks off, Herc stepping away to pull the curtains open and continues. “Group’s been distributing all kinds of drugs over in Kowloon City, didn’t know they are making their way here. No one knows much about the group, Shen and Po over in Narc there have a thick file on them. Still, nothing on the boss though.”

“I think I’ve got contacts that might know something,” Stacker says, a tilt at the corner of his mouth as he motions his partner towards the door of the mansion, and really, there is no getting around that word now, now that Herc’s pointed him in a direction when he’s had none. “You feeling hungry?”

The man grins, red hair looking like wild fire in the sun streaming through the windows.

“Lead the way, partner.”

 

Stacker brings them to Central, or more specifically the [Tsui Wah Restaurant](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsui_Wah_Restaurant) down on Wellington Street. Hercules can’t say he’s been here but that’s not to say he hasn’t heard of the place.

“You have informants working here?”

He turns to look at Stacker Pentecost, the man who made a name for himself in Organized Crimes before making a transfer to detective for reasons no one seems to know. The same man who walked into Narcotics and pretty much said his name out loud. Herc doesn’t really know how it happened, but he is between cases and the departments have always liked some inter-Bureau collaboration anyway.

“Not quite, just frequent enough customers that it’s easier to find them here than anywhere else.”

They walk in, and Stacker motions to a table in the far corner of the restaurant as soon as one of the staff greets them with a smile. Herc follows as Stacker makes his way through the place, purpose with every step.

And it isn’t until the two of them are at the table that Herc understands the presence Stacker forces over himself because the man and the woman sitting there have quite the one themselves.

She’s got blonde hair that almost glints white beneath the fluorescent lights, and he’s got a dark beard that matches her roots. When she looks at them, her lips curl like they are unpleasant but it’s not quite malice yet as she says his name.

“Stacker Pentecost.”

 _Russian_ , Herc notes the accent thick in her voice.

“Sasha.” Stacker looks as though he’s played this game for far too long, knows all the tricks in the book and wrote a few in the margins himself. He sits down, tilts his head for Herc to follow before he faces the other one. “Aleksis.”

“They brew fresh tea, you should get your friend a drink.”

Stacker nods, flags down a waiter and turns to Herc, “Milk tea?”

He nods, noting the way the Russians aren’t sizing them up, noting the way Stacker smiles briefly at the waiter as he makes their order, _one[milk tea](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hong_Kong-style_milk_tea) and one [yuanyang](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuanyang_%28drink%29), no sugar in both_. Herc would raise an eyebrow at how Stacker knows just exactly how he takes his drinks but they already had a coffee together, forgetting details even as minor as this wouldn’t make them very good at their jobs.

(And if Herc knows anything, he knows that Stacker Pentecost is, indeed, very good at his job.)

“Homicide wants to know something, what is it this time?”

Herc watches as Stacker takes out the evidence bag from his suit jacket, lays it down on the table between them and the Russians. The sharp smile cutting across Sasha’s mouth turns malicious at the sight of the bright red calling card, the clench in Aleksis’ jaw doesn’t escape anyone.

“Kaiju.”

Herc nods, “Bone powder specifically.”

“You want to know who is selling.”

“I want to know who the boss is.” Stacker replies, putting away the evidence bag just as the waiter comes back with their drinks. It’s hot enough to see steam curling from the surface but drinks like these taste best when they’re hot, goes down smoother than silk on the tongue.

“No one knows. We suspect Chau but,” Aleksis shrugs, “Group too big to be new but no connection we can find, yet.”

And that is exactly the problem with Kaiju, it doesn’t make sense. The group’s too organized, knows it’s way through is city too well to be so new, has too many connections to too many businesses without the support of the established groups that already has Hong Kong split up into too many territories.

“But there is local bar, red cards like yours everywhere.”

The Russians take their mutual silence as agreement, and gives them a name: _Tacit Ronin_.

They part ways with these instructions: _Dress nice_ , looking to Herc in his worn Henley like it personally offends them. _Bring eye candy, good for distraction. Also mandatory._

“Sasha and Aleksis Kaidonovsky,” Stacker explains as soon as they step out of the restaurant, their bill waived by the owner, the Russians grinning from their table even through the windows, “Lots of rumours about who they are. I don’t doubt half of that they spread themselves. But bullshit or not, they can get you anything.”

And going by the two exclusive invites held in Stacker’s hand, they really can.

“Huh, so it seems like we’ve got a party to go to.”

 

They make their phone calls.

Stacker to his sister, and Herc to his brother. Stacker ends his conversation with a _see you soon_ , and Herc ends his with a _you owe me this_. Stacker doesn’t ask, and Herc is glad, he doesn’t need to explain the piece of work that Scott Hansen is.

“I’ve got our plus ones.” Stacker is standing by his desk when he walks out of his boss’ office back at the station, the both of them having notified their immediate supervisor of the progress of the case. Herc grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, his smile hidden with the motion.

He follows him home.

Standing a step behind Stacker as he unlocks the front door of his apartment, Hercules Hansen meets Luna Pentecost and Tamsin Sevier.

If he thinks his hair is red, he hasn’t seen hers. And if he thinks he’s got a sibling just the opposite of himself, he hasn’t seen the Pentecost siblings together in one room. He is about to though.

She’s got her wet hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, her skin a contrast with the towel she wrapped around herself and nothing else.

“So, you’re my date tonight.”

Herc takes her hand in his when she introduces herself and politely averts his gaze.

“Seems like it."

“My brother’s not the one you should be worried about,” Luna says with a roll of her eyes, and to Herc, it suddenly feels like there’s a joke in the room that everyone else knows the punch line to. “It’s her.”

“Tamsin Sevier,” and when she introduces herself to him, her grin is all teeth.

“Leave him alone, Tam.” Stacker walks back into the room, hands him a glass of water and Herc doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful to see the man. The fact that they’ve only met today, the fact that he’s only heard of him in name before today matters very little. It’s the way the word comes off of his tongue. “Herc’s my partner for the case.”

“And Luna’s my partner in life, Stacks.” Tamsin has a small towel in her hand as she drags Luna to the couch with the other, sits her down and has her ponytail undone from its tie. Her plain white tank gets wet from the ends of Luna’s hair as she continues. “You can’t just bring someone named _Hercules_ Hansen home and not expect me to get suspicious of your intention.”

Herc’s oh turns into _oh_.

Stacker just shakes his head, “This is why _she_ ’s my date tonight.”

“I dodged a bullet.”

“More like I took one for you.”

Even Luna lets out a small snort of laughter at that.

So, maybe the Pentecost siblings aren’t so different after all.

 

Both Tamsin and Luna are part of their regional [police tactical teams](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Police_Tactical_Unit_%28Hong_Kong%29), largely responsible for riot control but also immediate reserve in any emergencies. There’s no ring but there might as well be one with the way they look to each other, hearts in their eyes.

Or that might just be the glint in their eyes when a plan comes together perfectly.

Herc doesn’t quite laugh when Stacker steps out in a pastel suit.

“It compliments your—”

“I dare you to say eyes, Hansen.”

And the growl, low in Stacker’s throat, sets off something, like the drag of a matchstick across the side of the box when he says his last name like he does. Herc just hides his smirk behind his hand and says. “Looks good on you, I didn’t know Armani makes pink.”

Tamsin isn’t quite so generous with her words, just lets out a loud whistle. “Pink’s definitely your colour though, Stacks. We should take a picture for Mako.”

“Mako doesn’t need to see.”

“But that’s Mako’s favourite colour.” Tamsin’s dress is not zipped up but she’s already turning around to look for her phone in one of the bags tossed on the couch. The long line of her back on display. Stacker rolls his eyes and fixes the collar of his dress shirt over his tie. “Do you really think I don’t know my daughter’s favourite colour?”

And even without any questions asked on his behalf, Herc’s answers come when Luna taps him on the shoulder and motions to a shelf where there are half a dozen photographs of the same little Japanese girl with hair at varying lengths and various styles set in frames.

“That’s Mako Mori, my adopted daughter.”

Herc doesn’t startle when Stacker speaks up from behind him, just turns and gives him a soft smile. And suddenly that reason behind Stacker’s transfer doesn’t seem so mysterious at all.

“Wished my kid wouldn’t object so much to having his pictures around the place.”

“They all do. But the real problem is that I did not account for the fact that my brother’s now the eye candy in the room.” Luna says, doesn’t even bother with biting back the smirk that has taken over her entire face. “I thought Tam and I were going to be the distraction.”

“In a moment when I can get this damn dress to stay.” Tamsin is adjusting her cocktail dress, standing in the middle of the living room with her heels kicked over. Luna’s sigh is barely audible but the click of her heels across the wooden floorboards of Stacker’s apartment speaks volumes when she walks up behind Tamsin and zips her dress all the way up.

Herc doesn’t say anything when Luna brushes an easy kiss to the back of Tamsin’s neck just when she steps back, just considers himself lucky that he’s getting to this party in a borrowed suit jacket of a colour not quite as pastel as Stacker’s own.

 

 _Tacit Ronin_ is discreet, a private bar tucked carefully between two other ones spilling people on to the streets of [Lan Kwai Fong](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lan_Kwai_Fong), the district popular with expats. The mix of Cantonese and English and a handful of other foreign tongues like the cocktails being served.

They call themselves the Jessops, Kaori Jessop and Duc Jessop, but whether the latter is actually pronounced Duck or Duke remains a mystery still.

The lights are dim, the entire span of the room made of sharp angles, shaded in glossy blacks and whites. The only touches of colours are the cocktail dresses and the bright red squares of cardstock littered across the tabletops. Stacker has Tamsin with her arm tucked into his, and Herc has Luna’s hand in his. The music isn’t loud but it does require some effort when one wants to be heard over everyone else in the place. Herc points them in the direction of a small table, and Stacker goes to order them all drinks.

Tamsin and Luna are biting on their straws, talking loud enough to mask Herc’s quick glances as he tracks men and women across the room, and laughing just enough to misdirect from the way Stacker watches the red cards with the fluorescent Kaiju insignia being passed around, left behind, and being slipped into pockets and purses all alike.

It gets busier and a little harder to follow the colour red when there are barely legal girls and boys being let inside as someone else’s plus one. And just that much harder when Herc’s cell begins buzzing in his pocket. He excuses himself from the table that has him shoulder to shoulder with Stacker, his thigh pressed flushed from knee to hip with the other man. He turns down the hallway towards the men’s restroom where the music is muffled and the lights are just a little brighter.

This is where Herc pulls his phone out.

This is where the message has him seeing literal red.

 

The text is simple.

The text is from Trevin, their neighbour down the hall, the one with the twin brother who works some kind of managerial positions at some sneaker company.

The text reads this: _Mr. Hansen, seems like the loan sharks got pass security. Chuck’s safe with us but your front door needs a repaint._ Attached is the photograph of red paint splashed right over the front door of his apartment, metal gate and all.

And for a single moment of calm that settles over him, Herc wonders why the Gage twins address him as Mr. Hansen even though he is only six years older than the both of them.

Hong Kong’s not a big city but it’s never been so small.

Herc has his thumb on Scott’s speed dial when the washroom door swings open and out walks the same man.

 

It takes a certain kind of righteousness to do their jobs.

It also takes a certain amount of violence to do them right.

Stacker doesn’t need to see to know just exactly what Herc is capable of. Stacker touches his partner, carefully, just the tips of his fingers over the crook of Herc’s elbow and waits until he isn’t about to apply anymore pressure to the throat of the man he’s got pinned to the narrow hallway wall. It is only then that he presses his palm against the skin from where Herc’s rolled his sleeves up.

“Herc.”

“My son could’ve been at home.”

“Chuck’s a big bo—”

“Shut _up_.” Stacker barely gives the man a glance but he hasn’t done his job so long and so well without picking up one or two clues. And if the ginger hair isn’t a dead giveaway, Herc’s just a breath away from cutting off his brother’s air supply.

Stacker doesn’t make him pull back, he could but not without a fight, Stacker just keeps his hand over Herc’s arm and waits.

“The loan sharks after _your_ arse got to my front door, Scotty. _My_ fucking front door.”

Herc shoves his brother further into the wall before he steps away, fury in the way he has to hold himself back. Stacker doesn’t want to see to know just exactly what Herc is capable of when he finds this on his own. So, it’s easy when he reaches over and takes the square by the single bright red corner sticking out of Scott Hansen’s pocket.

It is Herc who stops Stacker from asking the questions with his eyes flashing in anger, barely contains himself from throwing the first hit.

“I swear, Scott, if _drugs_ are what’s so important you left Chuck with the twins—"

“You’re Narc, Herc, do you seriously think I’m so stupid?”

“Then what’re you—”

“You’re after Kaiju.” Scott’s always been too smart for his own good. Herc crosses his arms across his chest and Stacker doesn’t say anything.

It’s not leaving his nephew with the neighbours instead of watching the kid himself even though he promised. It’s not disappointing his brother or throwing his mess at Herc when things get too hot while he takes a ferry to Macau and disappears for a few weeks even though it should. It is knowing that Herc can only be pushed so far.

And maybe that makes him a shit excuse of a human being, but, well, he’s never admitted to anything else.

“Come on then.” Scott gestures to a nondescript door at the end of the hallway, and when his brother and that new partner of his don’t move, he cocks his head to the side and asks, “Don’t you want to see Duc and Kaori?”

 

Turns out Duc prefer to be called Duke.

Not that it matters one bit to Scott when he opens the door and shouts _Duck_ right into the small crowd gathered in the room.

A beer bottle comes hurtling towards him, breaking right at his feet. Scott barely even blinks, just slips the sunglasses off of the top of his head and puts it back into his pocket.

“Scott Hansen,” The man that stands up from where he is seated at the bar has his hair dyed the same white as the glossy surfaces around them. He walks with his arms out towards Scott, and maybe there’s irritation but the huge grin on his face doesn’t indicate much, “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“Until Kaori-chan dumps your sorry arse and come home with me.” Scott laughs and wraps his arms around his friend. And that’s the thing with him and this Darwin-born Vietnamese-Australian who ran in the same circles as Scott back in Oz, they go way back.

Herc doesn’t even understand why surprise is something he feels around Scott anymore. Because of course, Scott knows the Jessops, the Jessops with their exclusive club in Lan Kwai Fong, the ones handing out Kaiju calling cards like they are drink coasters.

“Not even in your dreams, Hansen.” She has a glass of whiskey in her hand, a slight smile curved over her lips. She’s got a high-collared black dress that shimmers as she moves, hair in slight waves around her face, and dark eyes looking black under the dim lights.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Kaori-ch—”

“Go ahead and finish that sentence.” And she says this as she gives him a hug, one where she wraps her arms around his neck until Scott is taping out against her back. When she pulls back, her smile is a grin, and her eyes are resting over Herc and Stacker by the door. “So, which one of you are Scotty’s plus one?”

 

The Jessops aren’t stupid, not even when Duc’s bad dye job is factored in. Turns out Scott like to talk trash and Kaori’s not in the business of forgetting much. They have never met Hercules Hansen, but they do know that Scott has a brother who works Narcotics.

Kaori is fucking murderous when they clear the room, glaring at Scott like she can gut him with her hands alone. The thing is, the Jessops trust Scott, trust that he doesn’t pull the kind of shit that he is now. There aren’t a lot of things that piss a woman like herself off, but Scott’s got a way with that alright.

“You’re burning a lot of bridges like this, Scott.”

“I’m doing the same if I don’t.” Scott doesn’t turn away from how they are both looking at him. But he’s not lying when he says this, and that in itself is already a rare thing, “If my brother’s got any say in this, whoever is behind Kaiju, they’re going down. I don’t want to see the two of you going down with them.”

Kaori and Duc don’t reply, and Scott is almost glad. He lets Herc take over, Herc with his deals and his justice, and wants to bark out a bitter laugh at the way his brother’s keeper keeps an eye on him anyway.

“We want the one behind Kaiju.”

“Our deals are never directly with the boss.” Duc says, his arms crossed over his chest, his shrug stiff and the expression on his face pinched, “Couldn’t help you even if I wanted to.”

“Heard of a man named Adam Casey then?”

The Jessops turn their heads to the other man that Scott drags in with grace, and the man’s got presence, easily commanding their attention with just the sound of his voice, pastel suit notwithstanding. Kaori shakes her head with narrowed eyes, the sound of the name unfamiliar. _Tacit Ronin_ has always been exclusive, invites only, she can recognize most of her customers by name alone. This name is not one of them.

“He might not frequent here but he overdosed on Kaiju bone powder. Wouldn’t be long now before one of your regulars drop dead too.” Stacker don’t tell them that he could have them arrested for a number of charges he’s been witness to tonight, and that isn’t even including the drugs. He doesn’t think he needs to. “How about that for business?”

Like Scott, the Jessops are not shy doing what they do but every one has their own lines that they won’t cross, and murder is the one for them. The drugs may bring in good money but they are not looking to get blood on their hands like this. Kaori reaches out for Duc, his hand already halfway there to take hers.

“Chau.”

There is no one on the force that isn’t familiar with the name. Hell, there’s no one in this city who hasn’t heard of this name. Stacker curses and Herc bites back a groan.

“Kaiju’s his new pet project,” Duc supplies, “I don’t know exactly how much the bone powder is making him but it’s a lot.”

Stacker looks at them, assessing the situation at hand, hoping that an old fashion undercover stunt will wrap this case up in a nice, big bow that ends with the infamous Hannibal Chau behind bars. He doesn’t know if he is pressing this too hard but he hopes he is making the correct judgment when he says this.

“Think you can get us a meeting with Chau?”

Kaori stills, wishing she could tell them with any kind of certainty that it is going to be a no.

“I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can arrange.”

 

When they leave, Stacker goes to get Tamsin and Luna still sitting at the table with their straws bitten out of shape, and promises the whole story on their way back. Scott, on the other hand, stops Herc on the sidewalk still crowded with bar patrons going for their next round of drinks.

“You can’t say I owe you after this.”

“You’re replacing my front door and the metal gate.” That’s the thing with Scott though, there’s family and then there’s himself. And Herc knows his brother. “Then maybe I won’t throw you in the same jail cell as Chau. You’re smart, Scotty, I’m sure you can repay your debts to him some other way.”

Herc doesn’t look away from his brother even as he flags down a taxi, doesn’t look away from the slow smile that is finally not an outright lie.

“Be careful out there, Herc.”

Scott heads down the street, one hand raised in a mock salute of what might have been goodbye. But with Scotty, Herc knows it isn’t so easy to change a single thing. He doesn’t startle when a hand touches the small of his back, just lets Stacker guide him into the backseat of the red taxi. Tamsin is sitting in the passenger’s seat, giving their driver their individual addresses while Luna slams the side door close. And suddenly, it’s like he’s been running empty for days too long.

“You okay?”

The smell of the plastic seat covers envelops him as he settles, finally turning to Stacker when he asks.

“I will be.”

 

Herc gets the call from Stacker a little after he picks up Chuck from the twins, carries the sleeping boy in one arm as he struggles to unlock his front door without disturbing the red paint. The place is dark and stuffy, humidity from the afternoon still trapped inside.

He has Chuck tucked into his bed, air conditioning to the room turned on as he makes sure Chuck’s stuffed bulldog toy is with him. When his cell begins buzzing in his back pocket, there’s little surprise to see Stacker’s name flashing on his phone screen. Picking up, he is careful that the door to Chuck’s bedroom is closed.

“Hansen speaking.”

“Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club, tomorrow afternoon.”

What neither one of them knows is that they are looking like mirror images, Stacker having just put Mako to bed, his cell held in place between his ear and his shoulder as he undoes the cufflinks and the buttons of his dress shirt with one hand.

“That’s quick.”

“The Jessops tell me Chau’s got another shipment and he wants it gone.”

“So, he’s not picky about who he meets.”

“I hope not. This short notice, we are only being authorized with one unit of the PTU as backup.” Stacker makes it into his own bedroom, belt undone and shirt coming off in quick succession. “Luna _and_ Tamsin.”

Kicking the door shut behind him, Herc laughs softly as he sits down at the edge of the bed, putting it on speakerphone as he pulls his shirt off over his head, because _of course_. “I look forward to working with them again.”

“I’ll let them know, and I’ll give you all the details tomorrow.” Stacker replies, small smile tilting at the corner of his mouth even though Herc can’t see, “Night, Herc.”

“Night.”

 

The yacht club is right on Kellett Island of [Causeway Bay](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Causeway_Bay), exclusive, but when Stacker and Herc enter and gives them Hannibal Chau’s name, the receptionist simply waves them in with an easy smile.

They find him on a yacht named _Remedy_ , wearing a bright red suit jacket with a hidden print, one that is looking more and more like his calling card as the two of them walk closer. Hannibal Chau is an imposing man, standing by the side of his boat, sunglasses glinting from the water by the docks.

“What is this, _2 Guns_?”

Hannibal calls out when they are close enough, smirk on his face, looking every inch like the mug shot every law enforcement officer has memorized.

Stacker rolls his eyes, and Herc has to bite back an insult.

The fact that it is Chau’s rules until they make the deal doesn’t go noticed by either party.

“Come on then, I don’t have all day.”

He waves them on to _Remedy_ with barely a backwards glance.

They are careful, not so much that they seem out of place in the seedy underworld brought out to the docks, but just enough. There is no protective gear on, impossible in the heat. There are only their department-issued guns and a single unit of the PTU on standby at the edge of the club’s property, ready to storm the place as soon as they get confirmation.

Luna’s warning on the other end of the earpiece tells them both that they no longer have eyes on them.

Hannibal leads them below deck, has his men offer them chilled bottles of beer. Stacker declines and Herc takes one. The two of them watching as Hannibal settles into one of the seats like it’s his throne.

“So, how do you know the Jessops?”

“Aussie,” Herc says in place of an explanation, laying his accent on thick. When Chau simply raises an eyebrow like he is looking for more, Herc plays his part just right, rolling his eyes as he continues. “Duc and I knew each other back in Oz, ran in the same circles.”

Hannibal looks at them, assessing and it’s a long moment before Stacker speaks up. “Hong Kong’s not so big that you can’t find an old friend when you’re in town for business.”

“I don’t rush my deals.” And the man emphasises this as he takes out a cigar and a guillotine, cutting the cap off with one hand and reaching for a lighter with the other.

“You have a shipment and you want it gone, we can do that for you.” Stacker says, sitting back and stretching out his legs, playing Chau’s game.

“I don’t know you, why should I trust you?”

“Doesn’t take trust to get the work done.” Herc says easily, looking at the man like it’s all just a challenge to him, taking a drink of the beer and not glancing away when Hannibal Chau lets out a ring of smoke.

If either one of them have tells, it goes unnoticed when Hannibal finally stands up and gestures towards the stairs.

“Shipment’s on the deck.”

 

Geared up and ready at a moment’s notice, the PTU team is standing in the shade of the club’s outer perimeter. Their command truck is down the road, and they are waiting with their binoculars trained on the yacht parked against the docks.

Their visuals are back when Stacker and Herc are finally stepping out on the deck with Hannibal Chau in the lead.

It isn’t Tamsin who notices the man with his white opaque bags of takeout, two in one hand, the other balancing a tray of cold drinks. Neither is it Luna either who sees the man trying, discreetly, to pull his cell phone out of his pocket to make a call.

She is, however, the one to see the tattoos belonging on every single one of Chau’s men inked over this man’s arm. She is also the one shouting through the comms, praying that she is quick enough even as one of her team member takes the man to the ground, wrenching the phone from his hand.

"Shit, Stacks, get out! They’ve got a spotter—”

 

Herc really ought to know better than to believe things would be so easy.

Following Hannibal Chau up to the deck, there are bricks of what must be pounds of bone powder neatly stacked in a pile, a box of Chau’s bright red calling card sitting next to it.

“Bone powder,” Hannibal says, cigar in hand and his shades back over his eyes, “Tried it before?”

Herc nods with a snort, playing this character that feels awfully like his brother, “Stuff works great.”

“I’ve got exactly 50 pounds, accounting for my usual buyers and distributors,” Hannibal says, looking to them with eyes they can’t read behind those reflective sunglasses, “How’d you boys like to tackle 10 pounds of the stuff?”

Stacker wants to make the deal, confirm that what they are looking at is really the drugs Hannibal promises but one of Chau’s men walks on deck, a cell phone in hand as he offers it to his boss.

Hannibal holds up a hand at them and brings the phone to his ear.

Luna’s warning doesn’t prepare them at all.

“Shit, Stacks, get out! They’ve got a spotter—”

Hannibal doesn’t even bother with asking whether they are cops, just turns around and draws his gun but if there’s one thing worse than killing a man, it’s killing a cop.

The first shot fired towards them is not a surprise, the explosion is.

Stacker barely ducks before one of Chau’s men tosses a flash grenade into the mess, the explosion is more sound and light than actual harm but it does have most of them disoriented.

In the confusion, he trusts that Luna and Tamsin, as well as the rest of their tactical team, will have the yacht, if not the entire club, surrounded. Stacker is coughing and there really shouldn’t be so much smoke.

There is the distinct shouting of men even over the ringing from the flash grenade, more gunfire, and a stampede of footsteps Stacker can’t help but recognize as combat boots hitting concrete in full gear. He is staggering to his feet, his weapon in hand, careful not to aim it at his own foot and clutches at the railings on _Remedy_ ’s sides.

Distantly, he hears a few more shouts before he thinks it is Tamsin who is crowing over the comms that she’s got Hannibal Chau in cuffs.

When the smoke is clear, Stacker notices that it really isn’t smoke at all.

When he can finally get to his partner, he finds Herc, having tackled one of Chau’s men to the floor of the deck, covered head to toe in white powder.

Kaiju bone powder to be more specific.

With the way Herc is looking at him, Stacker imagines he doesn’t look too good either.

And when the bone powder begins to burn, lit by the cigar Hannibal Chau drops as he tries to make his escape, Stacker just staggers to the fire extinguisher next to the door leading down into the hull. Taking out the fire, he is disoriented and still seeing bright flashes in his vision.

 

The takedowns are never long, it is always the aftermath that is.

Tamsin and Luna are waving at them from afar, the two of them quarantined from their backup even after they have stripped down to their underwear by the docks. Their clothes bagged and placed in the boxes of evidence heading for the labs. The two of them having to slip on PTU windbreakers and some academy sweatpants Tamsin manages to dig out of the command truck parked two streets down from the club.

They watch as Hannibal Chau and the rest of his men get taken away in cuffs, until the location is secured as a crime scene and the team of CSI have arrived.

It is only then that Stacker turns to Herc.

“Come on, we’re going to the hospital.” Stacker can see the protest ready at the tip of Herc’s tongue, the fact that he is beginning to feel a little dry in his throat is only a little bit distracting. “One confirmed victim is more than enough to be cautious over this.”

Herc assures him that he is fine, better than fine actually, but he gets into the car without a fuss. Stacker tries not to get too concerned over the flush that is beginning across Herc’s face and already well down his neck.

They are turning down the street when Herc admits.

“I think I inhaled some.”

“What?”

“When I took down one of Chau’s men, his elbow hit my stomach, I might’ve inhaled some bone powder.”

Stacker doesn’t sigh but his frown does get a little deeper, concerned not only for Herc but also the way that it isn’t just his mouth that is dry anymore, his lips are too. Stacker drags his tongue across his bottom lip, his eyes on the road, and doesn’t notice the way Herc can’t seem to look away.

They get there in record time, and the doctor that comes in draws the curtains around them.

Their story is quick to be retold, Herc much more familiar with the contents, as well as the effects of the drug. The doctor makes notes on her clipboard and has them seated as she takes a blood sample.

Stacker isn’t one to get distracted on the job but every time the doctor touches a hand to Herc, he makes soft noises from his throat that he doesn’t seem to notice himself. And Stacker has never admitted to being a good man, but he never thought himself as this.

Herc is fever hot, his pants tenting in the front, looking miserable and embarrassed in equal measures. Not that Stacker is doing any better as the two of them wait for the test results to come back, talking about the mundane as best as they can.

The list is not long but it is one that has both of them forgetting about their current situations, if only until the doctor comes back. Like Chuck’s picky eating habits, Mako’s school trip last week, Luna’s penchant for stocking Stacker’s closest full of pastel Armani suits, or Tamsin’s plans of a coyote tattoo.

Stacker makes a call to Luna to have Tamsin and her take Mako, and Herc has just gotten off the phone with the Gage twins next door to have Chuck over for the night when the doctor walks back in.

“Good news, there isn’t enough of the drugs in your system to require overnight observation.”

“Bad news?”

“Bad news, there’s not much I can do for you aside from telling you to ride this out.” The doctor gives them both a sympathetic smile, deliberately doesn’t look down at the state they are in, and continues with all the professionalism of someone who has seen much worse. “Lots of fluids, and come back immediately if the symptoms get worse. Feel free to do what the drugs intended, it will only help to flush it out of your bodies.”

Herc nods at the instructions and Stacker thanks the doctor on their behalves.

He doses off on the drive back, head falling against the glass, flush high on his cheeks, freckles standing out in sharp relief. And when he wakes up, Stacker is already pulling into the underground parking spot of his apartment.

Herc turns to him, question in the way he furrows his brows, having just found his bearings.

“Better to be watching each other than to have no one around if the symptoms get worse.” Herc blinks, and it takes a second for Stacker to catch up with what he’s just said. The fact that his face feels entirely too hot is blamed on the drugs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Herc grins at the way Stacker glances away, “You can just lend me your couch.”

“Whatever you need.”

 

He makes good on his promise.

Stacker comes out of the shower, water still dripping down the back of his neck, droplets disappearing beneath the collar of his cotton shirt. The apartment is dark and quiet, Herc sitting right where Stacks left him at Herc’s insistence that he ought to have the shower first.

Wearing nothing underneath that PTU windbreaker and someone else’s sweatpants, the man holds himself, careful of not getting any of the stray bone powder on another thing.

“Come on, I’ll get you a towel and a change of clothes.”

Herc smiles, and to Stacker, it feels like meeting him is always going to lead up to a point like this.

The hallway is narrow and they are close.

Like the morning where he brings him to Adam Casey’s home, tilting their heads together as he shines a black light on the red card and reveals Kaiju. And it is not just that single moment of standing too close because they are not so close that it isn’t a choice when they finally lean in.

Tentative but not so much that the final distance can be blamed entirely on the bone powder alone.

When Herc kisses him, he isn’t holding back. And when Stacker kisses back, he is pushing him gently back against the bathroom door, the mirrors still foggy from his shower. The offered towel and the change of clothes falling to the ground when Herc reaches out, his fingers wrapping tight around Stacker’s arm with want in place of need.

Neither one of them misses the way Stacker sucks in a sharp breath, his mouth still pressed to Herc’s. Knows that the bone powder might magnify every brush of skin-to-skin but not so much that they don’t know exactly what they are doing.

Stacker asks for permission in the way he touches the zipper of that PTU windbreaker, and Herc trusts that Stacker will take the soft noise he makes from the back of his throat as the _yes_ that it is. He doesn’t pull away from the kiss that he still has him in, not even when the drag of the zipper has Stacker’s hand spanning Herc’s chest.

The touch is good.

The drag of it has Herc moving his shoulders to drop the windbreaker to the ground and to finally bring the entire length of his body pressing right up against Stacks’, leaving nothing in between, leaving nothing but just the two of them.

It reminds him of Herc hiding a grin behind a hand just yesterday morning, bad coffees clutched in both of their hands, case file laying across the small table between them. It reminds him of Stacker touching a hand to the crook of his elbow, not holding him back but just holding on when all he wanted was to break Scott’s nose, talks him off the edge without talking at all. Reminds them both of—

The groan that escapes is all too soft, Herc barely pulling back to catch a breath, his mouth red and wet, and curving into something wicked when he says, “Doctor’s prescriptions.”

Stacker laughs.

It’s a sound they take to bed.

 

 

He wakes up, looking like he hasn’t slept in days, stubbles rough across his face, eyes still bleary.

And it’s not a good look for him, but it’s not so bad that Stacker doesn’t pull him back down onto the bed, hands already dragging blunt fingernails through his sleep-tousled hair. It’s a lazy tilt of his mouth, a smile if Hercules Hansen has ever seen on the man.

“Gonna have to let me go some time, Stacks. I’ve got an informant to meet this morning.”

It has been a year since Stacker Pentecost first walked into Narcotics, asking for Hansen instead of Herc. A year since they rid the streets of Kaiju bone powder and one infamous kingpin. The names fall easily now, almost just as much as Herc giving Stacker this one too when he falls back into bed.

Like he gives him all the other ones before this, that when he brushes his mouth over his, Herc pushes his tongue in. That when he makes a noise that comes from somewhere in his chest, Stacker takes it all in.

He leans on him.

Like he hasn’t done with anyone else.

When he grabs one of Stacker’s suit jacket off the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pulls it on over his Henley, he can already hear Stacker’s complain taking form on his tongue. Herc gives him two seconds before the man is out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in one hand and the tube of toothpaste in the other.

“That’s Armani, Hercules, you can’t just wear a _Henley_ underneath that.”

Herc rolls his eyes, folds the sleeves up to his elbows. “Would you prefer I don’t wear anything at all?”

“…Is that even a question?”

Herc doesn’t dignify Stacker with an answer, just checks his pockets for his wallet and his keys and gets out of the apartment before he never leaves at all.

 

The fact that the desk across from his belongs to one S. Pentecost is not a coincidence.

Neither is the fact that the man walking into Narcotics is only late because Chuck has probably been picking off the tomatoes on his breakfast and Mako couldn’t find her favourite blue hair clips again.

“Mornin’.”

“Morning, partner.”

Herc pushes over a bad cup of canteen coffee and watches as Stacker downs it in one go. The wince is unmistakable but so is the grin he is hiding behind his hand.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
